


How to get Halt O'Carrick to pop the question

by Jay_the_bird



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bows & Arrows, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Near Death, One Shot, Prompt Fill, RA Fanfiction Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_the_bird/pseuds/Jay_the_bird
Summary: A guide by Crowley Meratyn
Relationships: Crowley Meratyn/Halt O'Carrick
Comments: 15
Kudos: 33
Collections: RA Fanfiction Challenge #3





	How to get Halt O'Carrick to pop the question

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks!
> 
> I am taking a break from my not-so-regularly scheduled angst fest of a series to write this lovely fluffy one shot.
> 
> (checks notes) 
> 
> wait no sorry I made it angsty again.
> 
> -Jay

Crowley has been trying to get Halt to propose to him almost since they met. It is not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination – Halt is inclined towards suspicion and isolation and has been running away since before they first laid eyes on one another. It takes many long years. It takes growing older together. It takes lazy afternoons strolling through the woods in spring and quiet mornings curled up together as the sun paints Castle Araluen in gold. Talking about the future, about the two of them, about an eternity shared in defiance of all that threatens to hurt them. Staring at his face in love and awed wonder, bathed in starlight and sharp in the silver and blue of midnight before Crowley kisses him. It takes every moment of peace they have stolen from a harsh and uncompromising world. Trust and safety built of blood and tears and pain and joy, tested in the flames of war. Small, pure moments, laughing, smiling, holding onto each other to survive in spite of the dangers around them. It takes hope and love and joy and patience.

It takes a broad, razor sharp arrowhead, disappearing between Crowley’s shoulder blades as he turns to loose another arrow. The sharp, heavy thing is slightly off centre, and he gasps as it pierces his skin and muscles, the slicing, burning pain lighting up every nerve in his body before the momentum pushes him forwards and he goes down, bow clattering to the ground. The ground is hard as it hits his knees, bare rock cold and jagged on his cheek as he lays still with the pain, knowing it in every inch of him. Strangely, he is most aware of the reflected sunlight hurting his eyes as the smooth stone becomes blinding. The smacking sound of arrows hitting flesh is accompanied by the crunching of bone. Halt has forgone the idea of capturing the bandits, and each death brings him closer to where Crowley lays, groaning in pain on the rough, cold ground, unable to move, unable to breathe, his heart thumping loud in his ears, drowning out all thought except for a desperate longing for the pain to go away by any means necessary.

It shouldn’t have been a dangerous mission – all it was really was a feeble excuse for Crowley to invite Halt to stay at Castle Araluen for a few days. Even Rangers, he thinks, with the darkness clouding the edges of his vision, get unlucky sometimes. Nobody is invincible – anything can go wrong, and it usually does. Even so, he can’t help but feel disappointed in himself for the error, for not noticing the bandit behind him, for not reacting quick enough. The world around him is muffled, soft and warm and growing darker. Even the pain is fading. When the arrows stop, he almost doesn’t notice, feeling so far away from reality that trivial things like his senses no longer seem important.

Then, as suddenly as the arrow hit, the world is not fading anymore. There are arms around him, and Halt is telling him that it is about to hurt, that he is sorry, that he needs to take it out. Crowley doesn’t remember screaming, only the rawness of his throat once he stops and the guilty, horrified look on Halt’s face as he casts the arrow aside carelessly and cradles Crowley in his arms, apologies tumbling from his lips. It is all Crowley can do to curl against the one important thing left in the world, the only one he can still cling to. There is safety promised in his arms as Crowley goes quiet and still, half closing his eyes as oblivion beckons. Surely, he thinks, he deserves this, surely the world cannot ask him to endure more, surely it will allow him a calm and painless sleep, just this once. Surely, he cannot be asked for more than this – to die under the open sky, in his love’s arms, at peace, avenged. And yet he still struggles to breathe, to keep his eyes open, to cling to life no matter how painful.

“Stay with me.” Halt pleads, and Crowley wants to with all that is still him, but the want is so very far off, and the darkness is so close that he can’t quite tell where it ends. “Marry me.” He whispers against Crowley’s hair, voice broken with something that is not yet grief, and Crowley frowns, struggling to comprehend him. For several long moments, he wonders if he’s hallucinating, if Halt is even there. The thought scares him, and his breath speeds up, hands reaching for more of the contact he craves, for more of the warm, solid, real feeling of Halt.

“What?” The word takes effort, rasping painfully as Crowley’s fingers twist of their own accord into the familiar fabric of Halt’s cloak, seeking an anchor to the world – one that doesn’t burn with pain or send him sliding into the numbness of eternal oblivion.

“Please.” Their foreheads touch lightly, Halt’s hair hanging over his face. “Please, will you marry me?” When Crowley laughs, quiet and pained and continuous, Halt looks incredibly relieved. Laughing is better than the dreadful deathly silence, better by far when compared to the heart rending screams of pain or the quiet gasp Crowley gave before he collapsed.

“Of course I will, love.” He kisses him then, soft and insistent, shared tears of joy and relief wet on their cheeks as Crowley reaches around the back of Halt’s head to pull him down closer. The pain does not leave him, still screaming along his bones with every breath, but Crowley fights it with every bit of strength he has, with every memory of sunlight and dark nights and warmth and cold, sparkling stars, with a promise of a future filled with these things, a happy eternity.

He fights the pain with the knowledge of a question answered, with imaginings of a wedding amongst the trees and with the quiet promises that Halt makes him as they ride slowly back to Araluen.


End file.
